Chapter
One

Relevant Biography

The 'particular purpose' of this chapter and the next is to come
to an understanding of each author's method and goals. Four
different kinds of material must be combed for 'reminders'
germane to this task: biographical or autobiographical sources,
and passages from philosophical works which reveal biographical
events (intentionally or otherwise); the structure of
philosophical works, and direct statements in these works. The
first two, more 'biographical' kinds of evidence will be dealt
with in this chapter; the second two, more 'philosophical' kinds
must wait until the next chapter.

An important subsection of the biographical task is to show
(so far as possible) the extent of Kierkegaard's direct influence
on Wittgenstein. Only a very few explicit references to
Kierkegaard exist in works by Wittgenstein, or memoirs of him.
But it is easy to see that this is one of the many cases in which
Wittgenstein was influenced by other thinkers in an amount far
out of proportion to the number of explicit references in his
works and notebooks.

WITTGENSTEIN

The texture of Wittgenstein's life is itself an important clue to
understanding his work. He did not lead an organized and settled
existence, even by the standards of his time, which was
interrupted by two wars. Most of his life was episodic in
character. This was true even of his relatively settled
Cambridge academic periods. It is surely not a coincidence that
his philosophy is episodic and aphoristic. Both his life and
philosophy mirror the incredible breadth of his interests, as
well as the nervousness of his character.

The path by which he first arrived at Cambridge is an
excellent [9] example. His interest in aeronautics led
him from the Technische Hochschule at Berlin-
Charlottenburg to England. He enrolled as a research student at
the University of Manchester in 1908. There he pursued in rapid
succession interests in kite-flying, airplane motors, propellers,
then the mathematics of propellers, the foundations of
mathematics, and mathematical logic - all of which led him to a
meeting with Bertrand Russell in October 1911.1 He studied
with Russell from then until the outbreak of the First World War.
This rapid succession of interests, each of which he was
competent to pursue (even though they are connected only by the
most tenuous of 'family resemblances'), is characteristic of
Wittgenstein's life.

It is inevitable that the reports of Wittgenstein's life are
also fragmentary. Even information about his most settled
periods in Cambridge exists only in an anecdotal form. Various
students and colleagues have recorded their impressions. But to
date there has not even been a synthetic study taking all of the
available material into account, let alone any attempt to tackle
the task (by now impossible) of filling in the gaps in this
material. These gaps are partly a product of his intensely
private nature. His dislike of publicity was sensed by many of
his colleagues; although they knew that he was an important
figure, they felt it would be a violation of his wishes to keep
notes about him.

Three foci are clear in the mosaic of impressions. One is
Wittgenstein's dissatisfaction with the gap between his moral
ideals and his ability to fulfill them. This is repeatedly
evident. A second is his understanding of the nature of
philosophy. His own ideas of how to philosophize, and his
disdain for academic 'philosophy,' help to make this attitude
clear. The third, which itself links the previous two, is his
understanding of the close connections between ethical,
aesthetic, moral and philosophical concerns. Again, this trait
is demonstrated in the perfection he demanded in life, in
philosophy, and even in the house he constructed.

These three features are all more or less evident in various
episodes from Wittgenstein's life. To fully grasp the
significance of the whole, it is necessary to follow a method
which he suggested in the 'Lecture on Ethics':

I will put before you a number of more or less synonymous
expressions . . . and by enumerating them I want to produce
the [10]
same sort of effect which Galton produced when he took a
number of photos of different faces on the same photographic
plate . . . so if you look through the row of synonyms which
I will put before you, you will, I hope, be able to see the
characteristic features they all have in common.2

In the following material, some of the synthetic work has been
done; but the most important episodes are presented whole.

One feature of Wittgenstein's self-understanding was his
exaggerated sense of his moral imperfection, even worthlessness.
As his letters show, his hope for self-improvement varied, so
that he was at times more or less cheerfully resigned, and at
times positively suicidal.3 This self-image was not
lightly arrived at. The high level of his standards is
illustrated by a term of approbation he used: 'He is a human
being!'4 Wittgenstein often felt
that he himself failed to live up to this high basic standard.
He was sometimes criticized for undue harshness toward others;
but as his letters attest, his harshness was equally directed
toward himself. This trait influenced the way in which he did
philosophy; it may have been responsible for the fact that he did
not publish the Investigations during his lifetime,
although the manuscript of Part I was in more or less its final
form for several years prior to his death. In a letter to
Malcolm, he says: 'it's pretty lousy. (Not that I could
improve on it essentially if I tried for another 100
years.)'5

The Investigations is only a small part of
Wittgenstein's Nachlaß. Malcolm reports that
between 1929 and 1951 he produced roughly 30,000 pages of
philosophical material, in notebooks, manuscripts, and
typescripts.6 The sheer amount of
this material provides an important insight into Wittgenstein's
way of thinking. Both the Tractatus and the
Investigations began as material collected in notebooks,
in which the same general line of thought was often explored
several times in slightly different ways. Preliminary attempts
at a more definitive collection followed. (These are published
as the Protractatus and the Brown Book.) The final
material was carefully selected and polished, down to the last
individual word choice.

The pains taken in preparing written material were made
visible (literally) in Wittgenstein's classroom style. He
offered 'lectures' which resembled Platonic dialogues, with
Wittgenstein taking the part of Socrates and his students that of
the overawed foils. A [11] group of college students
he
once visited exclaimed that they had 'never seen a man
thinking before.'7 And this idea is echoed
by many of his biographers: even if the ground was familiar to
him, he attacked it each time freshly; he 'did philosophy' in
each class.

One of Wittgenstein's characteristic philosophical tools was
the use of outlandish examples to illuminate everyday life. At
the same time, he often noticed problems in other philosophers'
apparently more mundane metaphors. His sister Hermine helps to
explain this great ability to discriminate between good and bad
examples. She reports that the Wittgenstein children often
communicated in comparisons. For example, she once suggested
that his decision to teach in rural schools was like wanting to
use a precision instrument to open crates. He replied that
others were seeing the gyrations of his life as through a closed
window - not realizing that he was struggling to keep his feet in
a hurricane.8 The inventiveness
learned in this kind of communication clearly carried over to
Ludwig's philosophizing.

The active nature of Wittgenstein's philosophical work made
it physically and emotionally demanding. After a lecture he
would often go to a movie. He preferred American westerns, films
that were undemanding and escapist. He sat in the front row,
filling his visual field with the screen. And while he paid very
close attention, sitting on the edge of his seat, and demanding
quiet from his companions (as Malcolm reports), he was cleansed
and relaxed by the experience. 'This is like a shower bath!' he
once exclaimed.9

Wittgenstein's penchant for active philosophizing also
helps to account for the fact that he was not very well read in
the history of philosophy. He once assured a student that 'no
assistant lecturer in philosophy in the country had read fewer
books on philosophy than he had.'10 He read a great deal
of Plato, but no Aristotle at all! Most of his favorite authors
were suggestive and moral, rather than rigorous and logical, in
their writings; in addition to Kierkegaard, Saint Augustine,
Dostoevsky, and Tolstoy are often mentioned. It was Tolstoy's
abridgement of the Gospels that he discovered during the First
World War, and carried with him. He read George Fox with
approbation. Schopenhauer's World as Will and Idea was
one of his earliest philosophical readings. He read, and was
excited by, William James's Varieties of Religious
Experience as early as 1912. He believed that it caused a
moral improvement in him.11

The paucity of Wittgenstein's philosophical reading was a
[12] conscious decision. It should not be taken as a
sign
of general lack of culture; in fact, he was formidably cultured,
as can be see in many of the examples used in his works. His
talents in music were considerable. When he was a schoolteacher,
he was required to play a musical instrument. He selected the
clarinet. He was also a virtuoso whistler, and displayed a
conductor's memory and understanding of orchestral pieces.

Another reason why Wittgenstein read little philosophy was
that he disdained academia-for-its-own-sake.
'Professorial
philosophy by philosophy professors,' or non-genuine
philosophizing, was one of Wittgenstein's greatest dislikes.12 He
often tried to discourage his best students from becoming
professors. Several of them report that he seems to have been
afraid they would cheat their students - and themselves - by
offering a course in philosophy. (He seemed to believe that no
one could deliver what 'philosophy' promises.13) He
suggested that instead they should do useful work. This fits,
not only with his remarks on 'philosophy' in general, but with
his expressions of his own inadequacy as a teacher. He was sure
that his teaching had done more harm than good to his students.
He twice left the academic scene because he felt he had nothing
more to contribute, and there is evidence that he had considered
leaving more often.

Wittgenstein's moral stiffness was evident in his conduct of
his own life, as well as in his advice to his students. The
family fortune was quite large; through good management it
survived the First World War and the post-war depression. But
upon his return from the war, he insisted on deeding his share to
his brothers and sisters. Hermine Wittgenstein recalls that he
wore out the notary with his repeated demands that there must be
no way in which he could ever claim the money again! But she
also reports that he would never worry about asking for help from
them when in need - so he would always survive, like Alyusha
Karamazov.14 If this is true, he
was not nearly so forthright about borrowing money from his
friends. He was constantly concerned that he might be a burden
to them, as his letters show. He never hesitated to lend, if he
could.

Along with the giving up of his claim to fortune came a
general simplification of his lifestyle. When he was at
Manchester, he dressed stylishly;15 but he came to be famous
for his unostentatious dress: an open necked shirt (never a tie),
wool overshirt or windbreaker, more rarely a topcoat, and
sometimes a cloth cap. [13] His eating habits, too,
were
simple. He was quite content to eat the same ordinary fare meal
after meal, even on occasion preferring such food to more
elaborate meals specially prepared. This seems to have been a
conscious ethical/aesthetic choice for simplicity. Complexity
was allowed, and energy was expended, only where necessary, in
important matters. Unnecessary energy and complexity could only
be distractions.

While at Cambridge, Wittgenstein did not dine at high table -
the conversation sickened him. The sparseness of his various
rooms is famous. There was in general only a cot, a table for
writing, and a few books; extra chairs were piled on the landing
for use during classes. He lived in an equally frugal manner
during his vacations (in rural parts of Norway and Ireland), and
during his schoolteaching days.

Wittgenstein's sense of his moral duty showed itself very
strongly in his service during the two World Wars. If his status
as a member of a rich industrial family had not been enough to
excuse him from active duty during the first war, he could also
have claimed a medical exemption, for he had had a double hernia.
But he insisted on enlisting. Nor was he content with the rear
echelon duties that he was given; his continual attempts to get
to the front were finally rewarded when he was trained as an
artillery officer. He respected Russell's pacifist stand; yet he
thought that such a position would not be right for him.

It is very interesting to note that at least some of the
final work on the Tractatus was done while he was at the
front. He did not find his military duty disagreeable, even
though he was serving in a tough mountain campaign.16

During the Second World War Wittgenstein served as a lab
technician, first in a hospital dispensary, and later in a
research facility. The quality of his work was appreciated in
both places. Whatever his occupation, Wittgenstein undertook to
do as well as possible.

The reasons for Wittgenstein's decision to become a rural
schoolteacher are much disputed. His sister Hermine reports that
she herself found it hard to understand, and he explained it with
the metaphor of the hurricane. This suggests a morally based
decision, perhaps a desire actually to earn his living and to
'serve' as he could not in 'philosophy.' The idea that his
decision had to do with his moral self-understanding is supported
by the fact that [14] he spent some time as a gardener
at
a monastery before taking up his teaching duties.

Wittgenstein spent several years at three different schools
in rural Lower Austria. He had better than average success in
the classroom. But his eccentricity and uncompromising nature,
as well as the project of school reform which his presence
symbolized, did not endear him to the parents of his students.
According to Bartley, Wittgenstein was even tried (on dubious
grounds) at one posting; though acquitted, he decided to give up
teaching.17 Afterwards he again
spent a few months as a gardener at a second monastery.

The most enduring expression of Wittgenstein's moral nature
is the house which he and Paul Engelmann built for Margarete
Stonborough. Assessments of the respective contributions of the
two men to the project vary widely. As the house is very much in
the style of Adolf Loos, it might be impossible to determine the
boundaries between common interest and influence. Both of them
had known Loos as early as 1914. Engelmann was Loos's student;
Wittgenstein met Loos through an introduction from the publisher
Ficker, and Wittgenstein actually met Engelmann through an
introduction from Loos. The three men were in substantial
agreement about the principles of architecture, as Engelmann
makes clear in his memoir.18 Unfortunately, the
portion of the memoir which would have covered the period of the
construction of the house was never written.

There can be no doubt that the uncompromising nature of the
house as built suits Wittgenstein very well. It is
uncompromising both in its plainness and in the attention to
detail which emphasizes this plainness. No one disputes that
Wittgenstein had a lot to do with the execution of technical
details.

The plainness of the house is backed by a mathematical rigor
in the design, which again suggests Wittgenstein at work. On the
main floor, the size and placement of doors is in strict ratio to
the dimensions of the walls. The rooms themselves are exactly
proportioned in simple ratios. The geometrical calculations were
carefully done, and Wittgenstein went so far as to have finished
work torn out in order to correct fractional deviations from the
plan. This strictness, combined with the lack of frills, might
be expected to impart considerable severity to the house, but
instead it is very airy and pleasant. Hermine Wittgenstein
refers to it as a [15] 'hausgewordene Logik';
but
its logic is the logic of a dwelling. She also reports that it
suited the grand and peculiar nature of her sister Margarete very
well.
19
Pictures and drawings
of the house as furnished show a variety of unusual objects which
are set off by the plainness of the background.

Bernhard Leitner suggests that Wittgenstein was an architect
by virtue of (and not in addition to) his being a
philosopher.20 The connection
between ethics, aesthetics, and logic expressed in the
Tractatus is made manifest in the house.

One further kind of anecdote will illustrate Wittgenstein's
sense of moral duty. On at least two occasions in the 1940s, he
had the opportunity to get a substantial amount of money through
'philosophy.' He was asked to give the John Locke lectures at
Oxford for a fee of 200 pounds; he refused because he could not imagine
the lectures being any good. Again, Malcolm interested the
Rockefeller Foundation in providing Wittgenstein with a research
grant; he refused because he could not guarantee that he would be
able to produce anything, and so the grant would have been
accepted under false pretenses.21

Wittgenstein's deep concern with ethical matters is
reminiscent of many religious figures. Here again, Malcolm sums
up what becomes clear from the direct testimony of Wittgenstein
and his friends. Though Wittgenstein was not religious, 'there
was in him, in some sense, the possibility of
religion.'22 As usual this
possibility carried over to the thoughts he wrote down; he
remarked: 'I cannot help seeing every problem from a religious
point of view.'23 He understood
religious impulses in a more than theoretical sense; and he 'took
his hat off' to them.24

The 'possibility of religion' manifested itself in
considerable reading of religious works, and this in a person who
chose his reading matter very carefully. Drury's recollections
include conversations about Thomas à Kempis, Samuel
Johnson's Prayers, Karl Barth, and, many times, the New
Testament, which Wittgenstein had clearly read often and thought
about.25 Wittgenstein had also
thought about what it would mean to be a Christian. Some time
during the 1930s, he remarked to Drury: 'There is a sense in
which you and I are both Christians.'26 In this context it is
certainly worth noting that he had for a time said the Lord's
Prayer each day.27

Wittgenstein's last words were: 'Tell them I've had a
wonderful [16] life!'28 Even as close a
friend as Norman Malcolm initially found this statement
'mysterious'; he felt that it did not square with the 'fiercely
unhappy' character of Wittgenstein's emotionally and
intellectually isolated existence.29 Later, however,
Malcolm recalled some impressions of Wittgenstein's many
friendships and his joy in his work. When these factors
are accentuated, his words do not seem so strange.

*

The picture of Wittgenstein we have built up so far can be
enhanced by an examination of his direct relations with
Kierkegaard. There are two kinds of material available which can
give clues in this area. Most of the references are in memoirs
by various friends and colleagues. Kierkegaard's name is also
mentioned a few times in the selections from Wittgenstein's
notebooks that have been published.

The first chronologically of the memoirs is this reminiscence
by Paul Engelmann. It recalls conversations that took place in
1916 in Olmütz, Moravia, Engelmann's home town, where
Wittgenstein was in artillery officers' training school.

He 'saw life as a task'. . . . Moreover, he looked upon all
the features of life as it is . . . as an essential part of
the conditions of that task; just as a person presented with
a mathematical problem must not try to ease his task by
modifying the problem.30

This formulation reflects exactly Kierkegaard's position in the
Concluding Unscientific Postscript: 'It is impossible that
the task [of life] should fail to suffice, since the task is
precisely that the task should be made to suffice.'31 If life
itself is set as a task, then it must be lived to the fullest.

What makes this reference particularly interesting is that
Engelmann quotes Wittgenstein's exact words, which mirror
Kierkegaard's both in letter and spirit; but there is absolutely
no indication that Engelmann was aware of this parallel. It is
hard to say whether Wittgenstein's expression of this existential
understanding would be more striking if he had appropriated
Kierkegaard so completely, or if he had developed such a view
independently.32

The next reference to Kierkegaard is the following remark by
Bertrand Russell, concerning his first meeting with Wittgenstein
after the First World War: [17]

I had felt in his book a flavour of mysticism, but was
astonished when I found that he has become a complete mystic.
He reads people like Kierkegaard and Angelus Silesius, and he
seriously contemplates becoming a monk. It all started from
William James's Varieties of Religious
Experience.33

Wittgenstein never became a monk, of course, though he
thought of doing so more than once, and did spend some time at
monasteries. He might have been influenced by Kierkegaard's
conviction that monastic retreat is a shirking of the 'task,' an
abstraction from the conditions of existence.34 But this
report by Russell confirms that Wittgenstein was dramatically
changed during the war, through his readings and perhaps through
other events.

A rather later memoir comes from H. D. P. Lee, and dates from
the period 1929-31 when Wittgenstein had returned to Cambridge.
'He told me that he learned Danish in order to be able to read
Kierkegaard in the original, and clearly had a great admiration
for him, though I never remember him speaking about him in
detail.'35 Certainly learning a
new language suggests considerable interest!

An approving reference to the Philosophical Fragments
finds its way into a conversation between Wittgenstein and
Friedrich Waismann from December 1929: 'We thrust against the
limits of language. Kierkegaard, too, recognized this thrust and
even described it in much the same way (as a thrust against
paradox).'36

There is a direct reference to Either/Or in the
lecture notes (collated and published by students) from a course
on religious belief which Wittgenstein gave about 1938. In the
context of a discussion of religious pictures of the world, and
how they are manifest in life, he gave the following
illustration:

A great writer said that, when he was a boy, his father set
him a task, and he suddenly felt that nothing, not even
death, could take away the responsibility [in doing this
task]; this was his duty to do, and that even death couldn't
stop it being his duty. He said that this was, in a way, a
proof of the immortality of the soul - because if this lives
on [the responsibility won't die.] The idea is given by what
we call the proof. Well, if this is the idea, [all
right].37

[18] This is a retelling of a story from the second
part
of Either/Or.38 The depth of
Wittgenstein's interest in Kierkegaard is reflected in his
understanding of the anecdote as a piece of Kierkegaard's
biography; scholars agree on this, but in the original it is
presented as part of Judge William's letters.

Other details of Wittgenstein's knowledge of Kierkegaard are
reported by Maurice O'C. Drury. During a discussion after a
meeting of the Moral Sciences Club (so presumably during
Wittgenstein's 1929-36 Cambridge period) Wittgenstein remarked:
'Kierkegaard was by far the most profound thinker of the last
century. Kierkegaard was a saint.' He went on to mention the
three stages of life. The stages are mentioned in two works he
had certainly read, Either/Or and the Postscript.
Drury also notes Wittgenstein's dissatisfaction with the literary
style of the Lowrie translations of Kierkegaard. In later life,
Drury recalls, Wittgenstein found the indirect method of
Kierkegaard's works too prolix. 'When I read him I always wanted
to say: "Oh, alright I agree, I agree, but please get on with
it."'39 This seems strange in
view of Wittgenstein's own deliberately circuitous style!

A clue to his position here is provided by O. K. Bouwsma's
recollections of a conversation with Wittgenstein in 1949.
Bouwsma reports that Wittgenstein said he read Kierkegaard only
in small pieces:

He got hints. He did not want another man's thought all
chewed. A word or two was sometimes enough. But Kierkegaard
struck him almost as like a snob, too high, for him, not
touching the details of common life. . . . (I'm not sure about
his judgement here of Kierkegaard.)40

One possible explanation is that Wittgenstein was at a different
'stage' from Kierkegaard's intended audience.

The high esteem in which Wittgenstein held Kierkegaard is
again shown in a letter from Wittgenstein to Norman Malcolm,
dated 5 February 1948. Malcolm had mentioned Works of
Love; Wittgenstein replies that he has never read that work.
'Kierkegaard is far too deep for me, anyhow. He bewilders me
without working the good effects which he would in deeper
souls.'41 Wittgenstein's low
moral self-esteem, as well as his admiration for Kierkegaard, is
showing itself here.

In addition to these biographical notes, there are a few
passages [19] from posthumous collections that hint at
a
knowledge of Kierkegaard. In particular, several sections from
the collection Culture and Value (which includes some of
Wittgenstein's notes having to do with religion) mention him
explicitly.

One reference, from the year 1937, again shows familiarity
with the Fragments and Postscript. It is in the
context of a discussion of the problem of the connection of
historical proof and faith, and the possibility that the Gospels
in all their want of historical precision and agreement are
nevertheless the best possible form of communication of the
Christian message. There is also mention of forms of expression
appropriate to the various 'levels of devoutness.'42 This again
suggests familiarity with the Stages or Either/Or,
at least. The particular combination of topics is also found in
Training in Christianity.

Another context in which Kierkegaard is mentioned is that of
the distinction between 'primordial' and 'tame' talent:

In the same sense: the house I built for Gretl is the product
of a decidedly sensitive ear and good manners, an
expression of great understanding (of a culture,
etc.). But primordial life, wild life striving to
erupt into the open - that is lacking. And so you could say
it isn't healthy (Kierkegaard). (Hothouse
plant.)43

The exact reference here is unclear. Several of Kierkegaard's
less-read works contain thoughts suggestive of parts of this
remark. For example, the distinction between wild life and
cultured manners suggests Kierkegaard's analysis, in his review
of Two Ages, of the difference between the (passionate)
'age of revolution' and the (indolent) 'present age.'44 Kierkegaard
also praises Adler for having precisely what Wittgenstein feels
his architecture lacks - some redeeming native spark.45 Most
specifically, in the Christian Discourses there is a
prayer asking: 'if . . . we have lost our health, would that we
might regain it by learning again from the lilies of the field
and the birds of the air.'46 But the thought has
an unusual feel; there seems to be an admixture of original
ideas, or ideas from another source: perhaps Nietzsche?

Finally, there is a reference to Kierkegaard in a group of
entries from 1946. These notes have to do with having the
courage to change one's life. Wittgenstein distinguishes here
between cold wisdom or doctrine, and the ability to
embrace it. He says: 'Wisdom is passionless. But faith
by contrast is what Kierkegaard calls a [20]passion.'47 This point of view is
reminiscent of Wittgenstein's own sayings in the late pages of
the Tractatus.

There are several interesting things about these direct
references to Kierkegaard by Wittgenstein. First, they evidence
a clear personal admiration for Kierkegaard as a thinker and a
persuasive author. Second, it is important to note that they
cover the whole length of Wittgenstein's career. The first
references date from before the completion of the manuscript of
the Tractatus; and his admiration seems if anything to
deepen over the course of the 1930s. The last references, both
from his notes and from others' recollections, are from the late
1940s. At the least this is evidence of a continuity in
Wittgenstein's interest in the subject of religion and personal
faith. The question of the relation between the Tractatus
and the later philosophy must be considered in the light of this
continuity. And there is also enough evidence to show that
Kierkegaard's works can be a useful key to the understanding of
Wittgenstein, at least in the matter of religion.

In addition to the instances of direct connections between
Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein, there are two more very incidental
mentions of a connection between the two thinkers. These have
more to do with Wittgenstein's demeanor than with any
traceable influence. Yet they are not wholly without interest
when one remembers that Wittgenstein felt a close connection
between his lifestyle and his philosophizing.

One of these references is very brief. Allan Janik records
that Wittgenstein's tendency to approach everything 'from the
ethical point of view . . . reminded [an Austrian acquaintance]
directly of Kierkegaard.'48

Lastly, there is a more involved and fascinatingly indirect
connection. K. E. Tranøy, a Norwegian student who came to
know Wittgenstein in 1949, was impressed by Wittgenstein's
knowledge of Ibsen's dramas, particularly Brand.
Tranøy thought Brand's moral severity and human
fallibility quite like Wittgenstein's.49 But, as Lowrie
confirms, Brand was a thinly veiled caricature of Kierkegaard and
some of his unwelcome followers!50

Of course neither of these two references carries much
weight. They do serve to suggest the sense of absolute moral
intentness common to both thinkers.51[21]

KIERKEGAARD

At first glance, Kierkegaard's life seems to be remarkably
different from Wittgenstein's. The differences begin with the
form or texture of the two lives. While Wittgenstein's
restlessness mirrors the aphoristic quality of his works,
Kierkegaard led a remarkably settled existence. He was born in
Copenhagen, and there he died. Aside from a few brief trips to
Berlin, and a pilgrimage to his ancestral home in Jutland, he did
not even venture from the province of Sjæland.52

But the geographically settled nature of Kierkegaard's life
must be put in context. Wittgenstein was alternately drawn to
the intellectual centers of Europe, and repulsed by them. He was
better able to work in private and secluded places. Kierkegaard,
for all his complaints that he was martyred as 'a genius in a
provincial town,'53 had in Copenhagen his
scholarly retreat and town seat in one. As Lowrie points out, it
was a small city of 200,000, but also a royal capital, with
theater, library, and university.

Just as Wittgenstein's apparently fragmented existence
renders biographical work a jigsaw puzzle, the stay-at-home
character of Kierkegaard's life is reflected in the fact that his
biographers have succeeded in giving a unified picture of him.
But the reasons for this success are more complex than first
appears. It is not that any public record of Kierkegaard's life
was made; like Wittgenstein he had an intense sense of privacy.
Rather, he was himself his own biographer. Nor does this
autobiography exist in a wholly connected and honest form. But
the pieces of the puzzle are, as it were, all collected in one
box. There are also sketches in his published works that make
parts of the pattern clear.

One work in particular gives an extraordinarily coherent
interpretation of the main features of Kierkegaard's public
literary production - his 'authorship.' The Point of View for
My Work as an Author, written in 1848 (but published
posthumously), explains his writings up to that point, and their
connection to his life as publicly known, as a result of 'Divine
Governance.' One of the questions which can only be answered
through biographical inquiry is how he came to this
understanding.

The intent of The Point of View is limited; and even
within its limits the work is perhaps not completely honest.54 But
the gaps in [22] this published work are partly
supplied
by Kierkegaard's journals. Like Wittgenstein, Kierkegaard kept
voluminous notebooks. But while the former confined his notes to
philosophy (with a few exceptions), the latter made both
biographical and reflective entries. It is a measure of
Kierkegaard's astuteness at self-observation - and also of the
close connection between his life and his literary production -
that Walter Lowrie's biographies are nearly half direct quotes
from the journals and published works.55

Because of this wealth of autobiography and reliable
biography, the task of interpretation of Kierkegaard's life can
be carried out somewhat differently than is the case with
Wittgenstein. It is no longer mainly a question of assembling
primary material coherently, but rather of singling out certain
connections and facts relevant to the present task. One part of
this project is finding clues to Kierkegaard's own understanding.

The journals are, among other things, a valuable document of
the way in which published material came into existence. As is
the case with Wittgenstein's notebooks, the seeds of published
passages can often be seen in earlier journal entries; and indeed
multiple drafts of works are sometimes represented.

But the real value of the journals lies in the fact that
often biography and literary preparation are combined.
Kierkegaard's talents as a psychological observer and 'spy' on
himself and others allowed him to find universal themes in the
particular happenings which he so astutely noticed.

The connection of the two most important personal relations
in Kierkegaard's life with some essential categories used in his
work is illustrated by the oft-repeated dedication and preface -
which Kierkegaard published with each set of 'edifying
discourses' he wrote, beginning in 1843. The discourses were
dedicated 'to the memory of my deceased father Michael Pedersen
Kierkegaard'; the preface emphasizes that the writer is 'without
authority,' and indicates a desire that the works should find
'that individual whom with joy and gratitude I call my
reader.'56

Kierkegaard's relationship with his melancholy father, and
his own melancholy - partly a result of his father's melancholy -
bore a large part in the instigation of his authorship.
Kierkegaard summarized his father's case:

How appalling for the man who, as a lad watching sheep on the
Jutland heath, suffering painfully, hungry and exhausted,
once [23] stood on a hill and cursed God - and the
man
was unable to forget it when he was eighty-two years
old.57

This incident (and his subsequent rapid rise from poor lad to
rich merchant, which convinced him that there really was a good
God) gave Michael Kierkegaard such a sense of his own sin, and
thus his son's original sin, that all of their relations were
colored by it:

From a child I was under the sway of a prodigious melancholy,
the depth of which finds its only adequate measure in the
equally prodigious dexterity I possessed of hiding it under
an apparent gaiety and joie de vivre. So far back as
I can barely remember, my one joy was that nobody could
discover how unhappy I felt.58

Kierkegaard's talent for dissimulation may have been partly
inherited from his father, who did not reveal the causes of his
melancholy. Søren's sense of melancholy was heightened by
his glimpsing of another part of his father's secret - his guilt
over his relationship with his second wife. Kierkegaard reports
it thus:

Then it was that the great earthquake occurred, the frightful
upheaval which suddenly drove me to a new infallible
principle for interpreting all the phenomena. Then I
surmised that my father's old-age was not a divine blessing,
but rather a curse, that our family's exceptional
intellectual capacities were only for mutually harrowing each
other.59

But this realization led Kierkegaard closer to his eventual task:

Inwardly shattered as I was, with no prospect of leading a
happy life on this earth, . . . devoid of all hope for a
pleasant, happy future - as this naturally proceeds from and
is inherent in the historical continuity of home and family
life - what wonder then that in despairing desperation I
seized hold of the intellectual side of man exclusively, hung
on to that, with the result that the thought of my eminent
mental faculties was my only comfort, ideas my only joy, and
men of no importance to me.60

Not only was Kierkegaard's literary production shaped by these
circumstances of his youth; but his perception of his life's task
was also molded by the sense that he was in some way bounded by
the family guilt. (His pursuit of theology was a result of his
father's wishes.) Furthermore he was not able to express this
guilt and the religious purposes to which it led him - he was a
captive of his 'inclosing reserve.'61[24]

The second and more well known example of the
intertwining of Kierkegaard's life and work is the literary
reflection of Kierkegaard's engagement to Regine Olsen. In this
case his 'inclosing reserve' had tragic consequences.

Kierkegaard's involvement with Regine is related to his
authorship in several and complex ways. First, the composition
of Either/Or (the first work completed after the break),
and particularly the 'Diary of the Seducer,' was explained by
Kierkegaard himself as 'a good deed' in respect to her, to give
an account of his motivations which would allow her to get over
him.62 The same might be
said (in a more subtle sense) of Fear and Trembling, which
contains passages fully accessible only to someone with an
understanding which only Regine could have possessed at the time.

Both Repetition and 'Quidam's Diary,' a section of the
work Stages on Life's Way, contain fairly direct
references to Regine. The 'Diary' is perhaps the most personal,
as it chronicles the deepest thoughts of the lover about his
beloved - distanced by a year in time from the actual events. A
brief section of Repetition reflects the relationship in
an almost brutally dispassionate sense. This passage sets forth
a project of using deception in order to break off a
relationship, much more violent than Kierkegaard himself employed
in relation to Regine. The project is proposed by a third party,
and is so cold that the fictional lover cannot bring himself to
put it into force.63

But the entire affair also had a more permanent effect on
Kierkegaard's thought and work. This can be seen in the
development of the phrase 'that individual.' He reported that
the dedication to 'that particular individual, my reader,'
which he first affixed to the Edifying Discourses which
accompanied Either/Or in 1843, was composed with 'her'
particularly in mind. But 'gradually this thought was taken over
[assimilated],' and his concern for the individual rather than
the crowd became an essential part of his authorship.64 This is
clear from the content of the two notes on 'the individual' which
accompany The Point of View.65

At one point in his journals Kierkegaard even says that the
development of the indirect method of communication was partly a
result of his concern for Regine:

Actually it was she - that is, my relationship to her - who
taught me the indirect method. She could be helped only by
an untruth [25] about me; otherwise I believe she
would have lost her mind. That the collision was a religious
one would have completely deranged her, and therefore I have
had to be so infinitely careful.66

It was originally his 'inclosing reserve' which prevented the
truth from coming out. But he later found a maieutic use for
this reserve in the particular case of Regine; still later he
generalized that use into his authorship.

Finally, Kierkegaard also believed that the intensity
required for the completion of his literary/religious task was
incompatible with the demands of the ethical state of marriage.
His worries on this score are evident in a journal entry dated
February 2, 1839 - a year and a half before the engagement. Even
then, he wondered: 'Do the Orders say: March on?'67

So Kierkegaard's literary production may have been enhanced
in several ways by the relation with Regine and its breakup:
those circumstances provided him with material, with method, and
also perhaps with the ability to concentrate (or lack of
distractions) so necessary to the use of that material and
method.

There is evidence of one other experience which decisively
turned Kierkegaard to a religious expression of his talents. An
entry in his journals runs thus:

There is an indescribable joy that glows all through
us just as inexplicably as the apostle's exclamation breaks
forth for no apparent reason: 'Rejoice, and again I say,
Rejoice.' - Not a joy over this or that, but the soul's full
outcry 'with tongue and mouth and from the bottom of the
heart': 'I rejoice for my joy, by, in, with, about, over,
for, and with my joy' - a heavenly refrain which, as it were,
suddenly interrupts our other singing, a joy which cools and
refreshes like a breath of air, a breeze from the trade winds
which blow across the plains of Mamre to the everlasting
mansions.

The generally agreed-on interpretation of this entry, dated with
uncharacteristic precision, is that it reflects a mystical
experience. Kierkegaard denied that he ever received authority
from any such experience (in contradistinction to Magister
Adler); but that is not to say that he did not have one. He
merely wanted to make clear [26] that he was not
mystically aware of God's will, through revelation (as an apostle
might be) - he saw himself instead under the category
'genius.'69 Mysticism presents
the double dangers of elitism and easy waiting for God to do
everything.

At any rate the entry certainly reflects an experience of
some kind; it recalls Wittgenstein's experience of 'wonder at the
world.'70

The talent for dissimulation, first learned by Kierkegaard as
a mask for his melancholy (and which morbidly showed itself as
his reserve), was another of the distinguishing marks of his
life. He used it to good effect during the period of his
'aesthetic' production. The point was to have his apparent
lifestyle in accord with the tone of the works which he was
producing. As he reports in the Point of View, at times
during the composition of Either/Or he was so busy that he
had just a few minutes a day to spare; to get the best effect he
would appear at the theatre for five or ten minutes - and the
gossips obligingly reported that he did nothing else every
night!71

Dissimulation had another place in Kierkegaard's life. One
of his few pleasures was his daily walk through Copenhagen. As
Lowrie points out, the town was small enough for him to keep up
with all developments of importance. By posing as a
man-about-town, and exercising his considerable talents as a
'spy,' Kierkegaard gained the raw material which he transformed
into the literary works.

Another category of Kierkegaard's authorship is his
insistence that he was 'without authority.' This reflects his
own religious status, which varied between his categories of
'infinite resignation' and 'Religiousness A.'72 He
published a great many 'edifying discourses.' They were not
'sermons' because he did not have the authority of ordination.
He wrote philosophical treatises (albeit well-disguised ones);
but of course he lacked the authority of the systematic
professor, and even that of the privatdocent. The
Christian root of this category is clear: in his authorship as a
whole he called individuals to a renewed sense of religiousness,
but without pretending to lay claim to authority, which in a
Christian sense could belong to only one Person (or at the very
most three!).73

Kierkegaard repeatedly stresses that the object of his work
is very limited. He is not a systematic philosopher, but has a
'particular purpose.' The purpose is the investigation of 'what
it means to become a Christian.'74 It is essential to
remember this because it may mean that some cases may be
polemically [27] overstated, and that some analyses may
be
incomplete (referring only to the religious use of a term).

The categories of 'the individual' and 'without authority,'
which Kierkegaard derived from life, are closely related to this
purpose. His uses of these categories are limited and polemical.
Just as Kierkegaard did not claim any special status for himself
(being without authority) so he particularly directed his
writings to individuals regardless of their status. The next
chapter will take up the larger implications of this form of
address.

The relation between Kierkegaard's life and his authorship is
the overriding example of his polemical task. Even in his
private life he may have given events too much significance
through reflection - it must not be forgotten that his diagnoses
were self-diagnoses, since he was 'without authority' in the case
of any other individual. But insofar as his public life was a
polemical potentiation - a caricature, in which the features
germane to the 'task' were emphasized - of his private life, it
is the prime instance of his use of 'indirect communication.'

Finally, the relationship of 'Governance' to Kierkegaard's
life must be discussed. In general, he understood his relation
to this 'Governance' as like that of Socrates: 'he attended to
himself - and then Providence proceeds to add world-historical
significance to his ironical self-contentment.'75 He felt in
general that he had a 'task'; but the fulfillment of this task
came through the building up of a pattern, the individual pieces
of which did not make special sense at the time of their
occurrence.76

But he had some sense of the unusual nature of his vocation
quite early in his literary life. In Repetition, he used
the category of the 'spy in a higher service.'77 This is a
complex idea. As articulated in the journals, it includes the
notion of a reprehensible (sinning) past, and consequent
obligation to God - as well as the more obvious ideas of
dissimulation and the gathering of information.78 'The
observer's job is to expose what is hidden,' as Constantin
Constantius remarks. Only after many things are exposed can he
see the pattern which guided these exposures.

PARALLELS

It remains to give some hints as to how the similarities
between Kierkegaard's and Wittgenstein's lives affect our present
task. The [28] most obvious and general of these
similarities is the understanding of the close connection of
lifestyle and philosophical ideas.

The style of continual reworking and rethinking carries
through to three areas of interest to us - the authors' personal
lives, their literary production, and the style they advocated to
others. But this reworking is shaped by a grounding ideal. The
root of each man's unease lies in religious concern.

It might seem odd to make the claim that religion is an
essential common feature of Kierkegaard's and Wittgenstein's
lives. Certainly Wittgenstein was not explicitly concerned with
religion as an author. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say
that a religious search is a common element. Malcolm suggests
that Wittgenstein had many times reached the point of crisis - at
which Kierkegaard advocates the 'leap' - but 'could not,
or would not, "open his heart."'79 At least he had a
conception of a higher 'ethical' standard for the 'task' of life
- a standard which he 'believed in,' but felt incompetent to
fulfill.80

Kierkegaard carries the connection of life and works to a
doubly-reflected extreme, since his works are rooted in his
sin-consciousness, then a false moral expression is invented to aid
in the proper interpretation of the works! Wittgenstein is not
so explicit about the connection, but carries it out nonetheless.
His philosophical 'brush-clearing' is partly an attempt to make
plain the moral foundations of life; his attempts (and failures)
to improve his own moral foundations have a great deal to do with
the events of his life. He also attempted to impart these values
to others - but not by explaining his own position; rather he
tried to bring about the same soul-searching in his students that
he himself had gone through. This method of working shows forth
the anti-academic (or at least anti-doctrinal) streak which he
shares with Kierkegaard.

Wittgenstein makes explicit a grasp of the close connection
of ethical and aesthetic concerns which is also apparent in
Kierkegaard's life. For both thinkers, what one makes of life
depends in some measure on the 'aesthetic' principle or
perspective from which one connects the various facets of the
world. Both believe that this principle cannot be communicated
directly.

Several similarities of method and understanding become clear
within the basic framework of life-works connection.
Kierkegaard, as the self-conscious biographer and psychologist,
can provide some of the categories for the comparison. These
categories will be [29] important again and again in
succeeding chapters.

Wittgenstein wanted to be 'without authority' in his
teachings, just as Kierkegaard did. Although his closest friends
understood him to be an extremely moral person, he did not so
understand himself, and his protestations of personal inadequacy
made him without moral authority. His rejection of academic
forms was an attempt to escape scholarly authority. In the
event, the 'first generation of disciples' allowed him both kinds
of authority, despite his protestations. The moral component is
now nearly lost, but unfortunately this is because the scholarly
authority has been strengthened - in a direction opposite to that
of morality.

'The individual' is an accurate category for Wittgenstein as
well. His works reflect this, as will be seen below. He always
preferred to deal with one interlocutor in his philosophical
talks. When Kierkegaard walked, he at least played the role of
the flâneur; to walk with Wittgenstein was to be
involved in serious philosophy, usually one-on-one. Even in his
'lectures,' he needed at least a friendly face to address.

Finally, Wittgenstein believed in 'indirect communication.'
This category is best discussed in connection with his writings;
but it could be argued that his whole life was a communication of
the way in which basic philosophy ought to be thought out and
applied. At least he was conscious of the gap between the actual
course of his life and his ideals; and he was apparently
concerned that the actuality, rather than the ideals, would be
'communicated.' It must also be remembered that he successfully
communicated philosophy in a house. 'Hausegewordene
Logik' is certainly an indirect communication!

So far the 'Galtonian photograph' showing a type of
philosopher is not complete. It is clear that both Kierkegaard
and Wittgenstein believed that their lives and philosophies were
intertwined more closely than usual. They also thought this
intertwining right, and fostered it consciously. In fact, many
of the tools which they brought to their authorships derived from
the course of their respective lives. In each case, this is true
of indirect communication, the address to the individual, and the
refusal of authority.

But in order to flesh out the picture, as must be done before
it can be fully evaluated, we should examine the works which were
the fruits of these lives. If our authors are true to their
principles, there will be a close connection between the methods
and goals implicit in their lives, and those expressed in their
works.